


In peace, sons bury their fathers. In war, fathers bury their sons.

by vampiric_mcd



Series: Life, death and rebirth are inevitable [4]
Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-11
Updated: 2010-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 06:57:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampiric_mcd/pseuds/vampiric_mcd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was little honour left in warfare in these modern times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In peace, sons bury their fathers. In war, fathers bury their sons.

_**fic(Merlin(life death rebirth series)In peace sons bury their fathers.In war fathers bury their sons**_  
Title: In peace, sons bury their fathers. In war, fathers bury their sons.  
Series: Life, death and rebirth are inevitable  
Prompt: Winter  
Fandom: Merlin  
Main Character: Merlin, Arthur  
Summary: There was little honour left in warfare in these modern times.  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: none  
Word count: 615  
Warnings: mention of reincarnation, warfare  
A/N: This takes place in a universe where Merlin and the other characters are reincarnated over and over again. There will be more ficlets and drabbles for this series.

A/N2: The title is a quote from Herodotus.

A/N3: **This is in honour of Armistice Day and all the fallen soldiers – remembered and forgotten – known and unknown.**

  
“Life, death and rebirth are inevitable”  
By Rig Veda

  
 **Ypres, Belgium, the war winter of 1917**

Winter in the trenches was almost unbearable. It was freezing well below zero. It wasn’t unheard of to wake up next to a fellow soldier who had died of exposure. Most soldiers were either wounded, sick or depressed. This war was slowly grounding away at them until they became apathic to anything that wasn’t surviving. His very breath was visible to him with every exhale. At times he panicked and tried to control his breathing – tried stopping completely until his lungs burned. As if the sight of his very breath would get him killed – pointing the Germans to his exact location in the trenches his battalion had taken to ground in.

He didn’t quite remember what it felt like to stand up straight. To be able to stretch his limbs without fear of his head being taken off. Even in the deepest part of the trenches he remained hunched over – as if daring to square his shoulders back was inviting disaster. As a result all of his muscles had cramped horribly. And he figured his back was probably beyond the point any sort of recovery.

It was strange how little he could bring himself to care anymore. Not when two of his childhood friends were lying rotting in no man’s field – beyond their reach – beyond the dignity of a true burial. Neither side wanted to brave the crosswire and enemy fire to recover their dead anymore. And while it made sense not to risk the living to look after the dead, it still broke his very heart. There was little honour left in warfare in these modern times. But it had never quite felt as dishonourable as this inhumane waiting game did – where they were constantly surrounded by crumbling clay, wooden planks, fungus-covered sandbags, water and something close to the scent of cloying decay.

Sometimes he wondered if both sides hadn’t just dug their own graves. As if they were waiting to die surrounded by walls of dirt – buried alive before they were truly dead and gone. Even the skies seemed limited now. As if nothing existed beyond opposing lines of fire and the forgotten dead in between. He wondered what they would say about this war in a hundred years time. What he would remember. If he wanted to remember anything at all.

Hunger gnawed at him at every waking moment. And he guarded his provisions with his life. He knew he could ill-afford to lose any of his rations. He was already skin and bones. Hunger and exhaustion contradictorily keep him awake even when he should be resting. And he couldn’t quite remember what a good nights rest felt like.

When rumours of replacement commanding officers filtered through, Merlin carefully ignored the other soldiers grumbling about the new colonel that would be in charge of their regiment by nightfall. Somehow without any explanation, Merlin knew it would be Arthur. So he waited and kept an eye on the few visible yards to either side of his post. And while Merlin would have liked to think that nothing surprised him anymore.

It still surprised him when Arthur finally rounded the corner of Merlin’s own patch of entrenched frontline. Arthur almost looked out of place in his close to clean uniform. Their eyes met the moment Arthur registered his presence. And from the joy and shock Merlin gathered that Arthur had already remembered as well. Another surprise Merlin hadn’t been ready for. And all Merlin could really fathom was that they had down this road before.

Of course, the gas attack took them both completely off guard as well.

More at the [Masterpost](http://vampiric-mcd.livejournal.com/58521.html)  
(listed in order of posting as well as chronological sequence.)


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